Lost Fragments
by RedFluffyBanana
Summary: The life and deaths of Jean Grey-Summers, from mutant to hero to god. Some deviation from comic canon.
1. Brutal Awakening

Author's Note: Here's the prologue to a fanfiction detailing the life and deaths of Jean Grey. Future Chapters will be divided into three 'Acts' entitled; Beginnings, Tragedies and Requiem. Some creative liberty taken, as well as some deviance from comic canon.

Lost Fragments – Prologue 

The first time she had cried- _really_ cried- was when she was cradling the lifeless, broken body of her best friend in her arms; watching the light, the joy, the happiness fade in her eyes.

Scarlett smears, macabre freckles, peppered the frozen smile on her lips, (she had been giggling at Jean's inability to catch a ball) and her still rosy cheeks. She lowered her head, cupping her friend's cheek, her cold, cold cheek in her warm hand. "Annie…. Please...open your eyes."

A faltered heartbeat. The weak, stuttered intake of breath. The soft trickles of blood which meandered down the crevices of her face.

"_Jean…"_

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of her name. She whipped her head round. Nobody. She could hardly see through the thick, hot tears that pooled in her eyes.

"_Jean…..I'm so scared."_

"Annie…?" She looked down at the crumpled body. Her lip trembled, "Annie..?"

"_Jean…I'm going now. Tell mommy I said goodbye." _The gentle words echoed around her mind... Annie hadn't moved. Wasn't even awake.

"Annie?" She shook her desperately. "Please don't go- Annie!"

Nothing.

Just an emptiness, a _void_ where the voice had been.

She brushes a strand of brunette hair behind Annie's ear. Puts the pink headband back into place.

"Annie! Jean! I have some cookies on the stove-" The sound of glass smashing against concrete. Seconds pass. Jean can't even move. Can't move an inch to see Annie's mom collapse to her knees. A scream, an endless scream that shatters the cold, winter air and ricochets around the block.

Jean can feel her pain. It floods her mind with its presence. She can't understand what is happening. Jean can hear her thoughts, feel her emotions. Her chest tightens, and a lump forms in her throat as she tries to swallow the nausea that threatens to rise up into her mouth. Gravel bites into her bare legs as she kneels in the middle of the road, no longer caring that curious faces are emerging from behind closed doors, closed curtains. Annie's blood has started to pool around her, lapping at the hems of her skirt, soaking her socks. A hand upon her shoulder causes her to look up slowly, eyes awash with tears, lip trembling, mucus streaming from her nose. The kind face of Mr Robinson, the Richardson's next door neighbour, meets her gaze.

"C'mon sweetheart." He chances a glance down at the weight in Jean's arms. He grimaced, swallowed, (his Adams apple bobbed in his throat) then continued in a thick voice, "Let's get you inside."

She shoved his offered hand away, pushed away the corpse, wiped her bloodied hands on her skirt and ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

Hair cascading down her back as she ran, she clenched her fingers into tight fists. Sobs wracking her body, she pushed herself further and further away from her dead friend. Didn't look back.

She would never forget this day. Would never forget this moment. Even in the grounds of the Xavier Institute, with the sun grazing her back, with Scott by her side. If she ever let her mind wander- even for a split second- her mind would trace the memories of her childhood back to this incident. She could never forget the way Annie's small, fragile frame hit the hood of the car, crumpled, and soared over the windscreen. Never forget the sickening sound of bones, of skin meeting steel. The sound of laughter being ripped from Annie's throat. The whimper as she lay broken in the car's path.

She ran up the driveway; the cruel replay of Annie's death playing over and over in her mind. The haunting scream chased her, biting at her heels as she stumbled up the porch. Fumbled with the door handle, before thrusting it open, and dashing up the stairs.

A glimpse of her mother in the kitchen, holding a tray of muffins in her gloved hands, "Jean, what's the matter? You're home early-"

Tripped up the last step, and fell onto her hands and knees. Didn't bother getting back to her feet. The carpet rubbed painfully on her skin, piercing though the anarchy in her mind. Nudged her bedroom door open, and crawled in.

She curled up into the farthest corner of her room. Pulled her knees close to her chest.

Scared, frightened, confused. Annie's face. Annie's dying thoughts. The car speeding off into the distance. No-one, _anywhere_ to help as Annie lay dying. Images and words colliding, overwhelming her senses. So confused.

And in the middle of it all, the thoughts of _everyone in the street_ whirling around her head. With nowhere to hide from the noise, she clamped her hands over her ears and screamed into the silence.


	2. 3 Years Later

**A/N: **This chapter and the next was originally one, very long chapter. But seeing as I haven't updated in a while I split it into two...

Decided to deviate here, just a little, from comic canon. Hopefully, that doesn't stop you from (hopefully) enjoying this chapter.

**3 Years later….**

"Jean? You have a visitor." The door edged open. A ray of light scattered across the carpet, followed by her mother's face – concern only too evident in her expression.

"_Such a nice man-" _Her mother's thoughts were clear in the relative silence, with only her father's thoughts murmuring in the peripherals of her mind, something about a lecture he had to attend later in the day. _"- a lovely campus."_

_Campus?_

"I'll be down in a minute, Mom." The young redhead said in a voice almost entirely devoid of emotion. She put the pen and paper down onto the desk, and swivelled around in the chair, consciously registering her mom recede from the doorway and retreat back down the stairs. She nibbled her bottom lip in thought, concentrating on the dictionary that sat contently on the bookshelf against the opposite wall.

"Come on, come on, come on….." Her brow furrowed as she narrowed her eyes. Took a deep breath. Feeling slightly ridiculous she thrust her arm out towards the book, palm upwards.

_I look like an idiot, _Jean thought after several moments of inactivity.

She dropped her arm, wary that her constant experimentation on a mere whim that she had – (after all, she could _read minds_…. She should, naturally, be able to lift things with her mind too)- was simply childish.

_Perhaps something lighter…._

She faced her desk again, her gaze drawn to the pen nestled up against a small mound of scrunched up paper. She raised a tentative hand, index finger slightly extended, towards her target. Tilted her head to one side, and closed one eye as she prepared for _absolutely nothing_ to happen. She flicked her wrist.

The pen twitched_. Twitched_.

"Yes!". Jean covered her mouth with the cuff of her sleeve, holding back the laughter that so desperately wanted to be free.

"Jean!" Impatience practically dripped from her mother's tone. Her thoughts weren't that much different. Jean could almost see her rhythmically tapping her foot against the floorboards.

"_He looks funny to me…" _Jean rolled her eyes. Trust her dad to be suspicious.

Mid-step, hand resting on the wood of her bedroom door, she looked back over her shoulder and mimicked the earlier action. This time the pen rolled over. She bit her tongue, but even she couldn't stop the smile that broke out over her features.

Excitement flushing her cheeks, she took the steps two at a time.

"- ah, here she is."

Jean turned the corner and, in an effort to appear casual, leant against the doorjamb, observing the scene before her. Her visitor was seated upon a wheelchair, clothed in a suit that was clearly tailored (and clearly expensive). His head, she noticed, was entirely devoid of hair, and seemed to shimmer from the overhead light.

"This is Professor Charles Xavier; he runs a school for gifted students."

She cocked an eyebrow, turning her attention to the professor's glances in her direction. He was exuding a warmth, both in his smile and his eyes…. but that was all, and strangely she couldn't get a read on his thoughts. It was like he wasn't even there.

Intrigued, she looked at her mother, (she was always the easiest of the two to read) "_It looks absolutely wonderful…It will do her good to move further upstate- away from here."_

She looked deeper, past the surface memories. She wasn't as accomplished searching this far into a person's thoughts- after all she hadn't gone out of her way to disturb her parent's privacy (who knew what she would fine?).

"_She hasn't been the same-" Her mother leans in closer, clutching the cup tightly in her manicured hands. "-She was the most cheerful child you could ever imagine. So loving."_

_Xavier put his fingertips together; his expression hardened. _

"_I still remember that day, she was distraught…naturally. They said Jean was there when she died- saw it happen." Her father nodded glumly. "Terrible…just terrible. No ten year old should have to go through that."_

"_**It's not polite to read someone else's mind without their permission". **_

Shock shattered her concentration. She withdrew from her mother's mind with a sudden violent reaction. She shook her head, trying to clear the images from in front of her eyes. The room became focused around her; the faded floral patterns on the upholstery, the delicate statuettes that her mother insisted lined the shelves near the open bay window that led out onto the front lawn. The distant sound of a radio hummed in from outside, along with the smell of spring magnolias and tulips in bloom from the flowerbed beneath.

"Jean? Are you ok?" Her father spoke, as he twisted the ring on his finger.

"Hm- yeah." She mumbled, taking a sudden interest in the geometric patterns on the wallpaper. She felt a blush on her cheeks and intensified her observation, willing herself to become invisible (if only…)

Professor Xavier appeared oblivious to the sudden change in atmosphere, "Mr and Mrs Grey, could I speak to Jean in private for a moment?"

"Yes, of course." Her mother said, giving a meaningful look at her husband who, after placing a hand on Jean's shoulder, followed into the kitchen.

Jean's stomach plummeted. If it was the professor's voice that she had heard- and she was sure it was- he knew her secret. He could tell _everybody_ that she had a freaky power…_powers_ (she noted with a stifled sigh). Her previous excitement had long since evaporated. She looked up at Xavier coolly, trying to disguise her galloping heartbeat and trembling hands. She folded her arms across her chest and crossed her legs. Just like her mother did.

"Jean-" He leant forward slightly, gave a slight smile, "- you're gifted, extraordinarily gifted. No doubt you have questions about where your gift has come from…."

Jean swallowed nervously, "what 'gift' exactly?" Gaze firmly fixed on her hands, she didn't see him chuckle.

"_You're a mutant Jean, like me."_

Her eyes widened, "you can do what I can do? Was that you earlier? In my head?"

"Yes. I apologise for surprising you."

Relief washing over her, she looked up to met his steady gaze, "Can you teach me to control it?" She glanced to the side, and continued in a whisper, "I can't- sometimes I lose control- voices in my head…constantly. I thought I was losing my mind. I'd curl up in my room, alone- just wishing- hoping-" She stopped, her head snapped back to face him, "wait, what do you mean a 'mutant'? Is something wrong with me?" She gripped her knees tightly, and clenched her eyelids shut to stop the tears that had pooled in her eyes.

"Jean, there is nothing wrong with you. You have simply…._evolved_." He wheeled himself closer, placed a light hand on her forearm, "You are special."

"Special." She tasted the word on her tongue, and smiled tentatively.


End file.
